


Artistic Merit

by leiascully



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Art, Body Paint, F/M, Fluff, Painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and River visit an art school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artistic Merit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hihoplastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/gifts).



> Timeline: N/A  
> A/N: A very silly bit of fluff - I think I'll write a more serious painting fic later.   
> Disclaimer: _Doctor Who_ and all related characters are the property of Russell T. Davies, Stephen Moffat, and BBC. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

"I'm ready for my close up," River purrs, appearing in the doorway of the art studio that the Doctor has commandeered. 

The Doctor takes one look at her and covers his eyes with both hands, nearly stabbing himself in the face with a paintbrush. "Oh, my giddy aunt. What is happening right now?"

"I'm not quite sure what you expected, sweetie," River says. He can hear the laughter in her voice. Her feet make soft sounds as she crosses the room to him. In a moment she's standing before him, tender amusement radiating off her. He can feel it even with his eyes closed; he can always feel her presence, wherever she is.

He peeks between his fingers at her and covers his eyes again. "I didn't know it was possible to be _that_ naked."

"Most artists' models are, you know," she tells him. She gently peels his fingers away from his face. "This is the Renaissance."

"Somehow you're _especially_ naked," he says, keeping his eyes above her shoulders. He's just the tiniest bit envious that she can walk around so confidently wearing nothing but her skin. "I mean, wasn't there a sheet or something?

"Hmm," she said. "Infiltrating this art school was your idea, and I certainly can't paint, and you _definitely_ can't model." 

"I could," he says defensively. "I could if I wanted to."

She crosses her arms under her bosom, which would be certain to inspire him if he were really a painter. As it is, it just makes him even more reluctant to take anything off. River gives him that knowing look and he scowls at her. 

"I've got paint on my hands," he mutters. 

"Yes, I thought you might have," she says. "Why are we here, anyway? If you wanted to get my clothes off, we might have stayed in the TARDIS."

"Well, there's so many theories about the Mona Lisa," the Doctor gabbled, "I thought we could find some other conspiracies. I mean, I've done the Mona Lisa. I mean, I talked to Leo about it, nothing that interesting happening there, unless it was added later."

River looks him up and down. "So we're just here waiting for something to happen?"

The Doctor thinks, tilting his head. "Well, there usually isn't much of a wait when you're involved. Something always happens."

River smiles. "There is that. In fact, I sense that something's about to happen very soon."

"What? Where?" The Doctor spins on his heels, looking around the room, and when he gets back to River, she's palmed a large quantity of paint. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," she says. "I suggest that you get your kit off, unless you'd like it redecorated."

He fumbles with his unfamiliar clothes - for once, he tried to dress the part - and manages to get down to his loose undershirt before River splatters him, dragging her hand down his chin and throat and chest. He sputters. "This is not what I expected would happen!"

"Oh, please," she drawls, "what exactly did you think you were going to get accomplished with finger paints?"

"It was all the TARDIS gave me," he grumbles. "I'm not an expert on types of paint." 

River laughs and gets him with another handful. He scoops up his own paint and smears it down her front. She raises an eyebrow at him and retaliates in kind. Before long they're both covered in paint and gasping for breath because they're laughing so hard.

"Oh, you are _covered_ in paint," he says, stumbling back and then into her arms. 

"You're quite the masterpiece yourself," she tells him. "Come on, Time Lord, into the bath."

"I did want to paint you," the Doctor tells her, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

"Sentimental," she says lovingly. "If you really want to paint me, we ought to go and visit Vermeer. Now there's a master of light and shade." She pats her curls, getting paint all over her head. "I'm not sure anyone else could do justice to the hair."

"At all costs, justice must be done to the hair," the Doctor says solemnly. "One might deem it your best feature. Of course, I am willing to reconsider, if you have other evidence to provide."

"As long as you're prepared to spend a great deal of time evaluating this evidence," River says, dragging him into the bathroom. 

"The rest of my life," the Doctor promises. "On the artistic merits, obviously."

"Then I think we should start with a wash," River says, winking at him, and the Doctor groans at the pun and follows her into the tub.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [one day your eternity comes to an end](https://archiveofourown.org/works/845735) by [leiascully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully)




End file.
